


Some Rumor of Delirium

by ukulelemonkey



Series: An azure depth, a wordless tune [1]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Aliens, Consentacles, Enthusiastic Consentacles, Other, Tentacles, a mild au because i refuse to acknowledge juno's massive fuckup, canon divergence - Final Resting Place, shhhhhh, technically yes there are already aliens in the junoverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 07:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11226540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukulelemonkey/pseuds/ukulelemonkey
Summary: In a Hyperion hotel room, Juno spends the night with Nureyev. It's unlike anything else.





	Some Rumor of Delirium

**Author's Note:**

> this is an au where Nureyev isn't entirely human and Juno isn't entirely a mess. i know the latter is much harder to believe.

Their hotel room high over Hyperion City is warm and dimly lit. The sheets under Juno’s bare back are a higher thread count than he’s probably ever seen in his life, and Peter Nureyev is holding his body like it’s a precious thing.

Juno is down an eye and still alive: unideal all around. Nureyev, though… His hands on Juno’s hips, his mouth at Juno’s throat, his breath and his heartbeat and his eyes almost shining through the dark--

All told, Juno is glad to have this.

There’s a quiet rustle as Nureyev shucks his pants. Juno stares up at the ceiling, breathing deep, waiting for his touch to come back. He glances down after a moment. He means to offer a hand, but the words die in his mouth.

Nureyev is half turned away from him to pull off his socks, so Juno has a good view of the plane of his back. Where he’s expecting the same smooth skin that Juno’s mouth has already become acquainted with on his neck and wrists and chest, instead there is something jet black and moving.

Nureyev lifts his head and braces himself over him before Juno’s finished trying to blink the vision out of his eye. He grins and stares down at him.

“Everything alright?” Nureyev asks in response to the look Juno must have on his face.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Juno replies. A long, slender, black shape appears behind Nureyev, then another.

“I’m wonderful, Juno,” he sighs happily.

“So, uh,” Juno’s eye flicks back and forth between Nureyev’s gaze and just over his right shoulder. “What are those?”

“Hmm?” Nureyev raises his eyebrows and glances back. “Ah,” he says, like he hadn’t realized they were there. He doesn’t sound worried or alarmed, but embarrassed. “Yes, well. They do that.”

_“That”_ happens to be waving gently in the air, coiling and uncoiling like dark ribbons of smoke. One trails its tapered tip through Nureyev’s hair; another curls underneath his ear. There are more of them than Juno can count, at least when they’re all-- all _wriggling_ like that. It’s distracting.

“Right, yeah, I can see that.” Juno reaches out to touch one, hesitantly. “I asked what the hell they _are.”_

“I wouldn’t--” Nureyev starts to warn him, but one of the tendrils is already wrapping loosely around Juno’s hand. It slides across the rough pads of his fingertips, dips into the webbing between his fingers, and tickles his palm.

A small shudder runs down the long, lean lines of Nureyev’s body.

Juno freezes.

“Does that hurt?” he asks.

“Not--” Nureyev squeezes his eyes shut. He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing gently, and his sharp teeth peek out as he bites at his lower lip. “No,” he finally says.

“Then why are you--?” Another tentacle reaches out to Juno’s hand. He closes his fingers around them and squeezes, just once, just gently, and Nureyev lets out a small gasp. “Oh,” Juno says. Then again, as he holds out his other hand and winds his fingers into the cluster of black tentacles. _“Oh.”_

He sees a couple more peeking out over the top of Nureyev’s head; they wave like sea grass in the air. The texture is slick but a little rough on the upstroke, limber, wiry muscle flexing beneath the surface.

Nureyev is outright moaning now, trembling above him as the squirming mass protruding from his back engulfs Juno up to his forearms.

“I suppose you may have noticed…” Nureyev’s voice breaks off. He pants quickly before recovering his train of thought. “That some of my physical attributes, ah, shall we say-- _fuck!”_

Juno laughs, tugging gently at the tentacles again and watching Nureyev’s jaw clench.

“I don’t know, shall we?” He means it teasingly, but Nureyev’s bright, bright eyes lock onto his with an intensity that makes Juno’s breath catch in his throat.

“Some of my physical attributes,” Nureyev says, deliberate and slow to compensate for the rate of his breathing, “do not exactly line up with the average human. Within a standard deviation, certainly, but on the thin end of the bell curve, if you will.”

“You’re not human?” Juno’s hands still. Nureyev’s tentacles push at him almost pleadingly, but with what looks like a concerted effort on his part they slow and stop.

“Three-quarters human, most likely,” he says. He says it with an edge of defensiveness that must come with the territory of being a quarter… something. 

Something with tentacles, apparently.

“So that’s the, uh,” Juno gives him a once over. “The teeth and the eyes?”

“And the height.” He shifts back to take the weight off his arms and sits down, cross-legged, beside Juno. Juno sits up too. His fingers trail after Nureyev, still tangled in tentacles and not really eager to let go. “The dimensions, really: thin; tall; very, very fast.”

“That’s…” Juno manages to extract one hand and lays it on Nureyev’s shoulder. “That’s how you fought off Miasma as long as you did, isn’t it?”

“These things do come in handy in a corner, when they cooperate.” He throws an admonishing stare at his own tentacles. His tentacles keep wiggling merrily despite that. 

Nureyev’s shoulders frame the dark, undulating shapes. They’re as shiny and black as volcanic rock; the light coming in through the window, all neon and discordant, renders them iridescent as they move between shafts of color from distant signs and windows and passing cars.

“Heh,” Juno laughs. “It’s kinda funny, when you think about it. Two tentacle monsters in that tomb with me, and I only noticed one, and then only when she tried to kill me.”

“…monster?” Nureyev’s voice is light, but Juno can hear the waver in it. He can’t see all of his face from where he’s sitting, back mostly turned, but he knows what must be written there all the same.

“Hey, no, I didn’t mean--” Juno pauses, then groans, long and frustrated with himself. “Ugh, look. You’re not a monster. You-- you’re a thief and a con and a killer, sometimes--”

“Is this meant to reassure me, Juno?” he asks, edging close to sardonic.

“Just shut up for a second, will you?” He scoots closer, tightening his hand in tentacles that had been going slack, which perks them right back up. “You’re a lot of things, Nureyev, but a monster isn’t one of them. And… Do I really need to say it again?”

“Say what?” Nureyev isn’t taunting him. He really doesn’t know, doesn’t have the confession looping through his head at all hours like Juno does. 

“You’re.” He breathes out. It’s harder to say this time, without a door between them and the looming promise of oblivion up ahead. “The… best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Oh.” Nureyev shifts a little. A slender hand moves to rest over Juno’s. “So that wasn’t just your glorious death speech, then.”

“Nope.” Juno pops the ‘p’ on the end of the word. “So, uh, can I ask another question about these things?”

Nureyev chuckles.

“Fire away, Juno.”

“Why haven’t I seen them before?” He threads his fingers through the tendrils and slides his hand down to Nureyev’s back. The bases of them move across his skin like the double fins of a Venusian shark through the surface of the ocean. It sends a thrill down into Juno’s gut: morbid fascination, at worst, and something a little less expected--but not unwelcome--at best.

“I can retract them,” he says. “I keep them in most of the time.”

Juno leans in closer and watches the skin of his hand appear in patches between the tentacles: deep brown behind a waving curtain of black. They’re soft but strong, cool to the touch; he wonders what one would feel like in his mouth.

“What’s different now?” A couple of the tentacles twitch when Juno’s breath ghosts over them.

“Well, they’re a bit harder to control when I’m… _excited.”_

It’s not that Juno wasn’t expecting that, at least a little, ever since he realized these things were an erogenous zone for Nureyev. But hearing him admit it out loud, tell him Juno gets him so hot under the collar his weird alien body parts go haywire, well. It’s enough to make a lady do something a little impulsive, if he’s so inclined.

Juno is so, _so_ inclined.

He takes the hand that never left the mass of tentacles and digs it in deeper. He squeezes at the base of a particularly thick one. It spasms in his hand; Nureyev tenses up and cries out.

Juno moves around him, into his line of sight, and puts a hand at Nureyev’s jaw.

“Is this okay?” he asks. Their lips just barely brush together.

Nureyev’s hands come up to clutch at the sides of Juno’s face, at his neck, at his hair.

“Oh, absolutely,” he says, then closes the space between them.

He kisses Nureyev open-mouthed and messy. His teeth, like always, prick at Juno’s lips and send shocks of pleasure-pain across his tongue.

He feels something cold and smooth slide across his collarbone and up around the back of his neck. Juno takes his hand from Nureyev’s face and gently touches the tentacle winding its way around him. 

It pulls away when his fingers brush against it.

“No,” Juno moans, louder than he meant to. “Come back.”

“Juno?” Nureyev leans back and looks down at him. “Was that… was that alright?”

“Yes,” Juno growls.

“This isn’t too strange for you?”

“I did a lot of experimenting in my twenties,” Juno shrugs. Nureyev gives him a disbelieving look, and he sighs. “The part where you’re one-fourth toothy tentacle alien? Yeah, that’s a little weird. If you were part ancient Martian, then we might have a problem. But you’re just Peter Nureyev, same man I-- Same man I went home with, only with a little uh, extra under the hood than I was expecting.”

Nureyev smiles at him. It’s a wet, soppy smile: the kind you make before you burst into tears of joy because somebody just validated a part of you that you thought was unlovable. 

Maybe Juno’s projecting, but he had to return the favor sometime, right?

The tentacle comes back with intention this time. It drapes itself gently around his shoulders and another comes to wrap around his waist. Juno lets himself fall backward.

He shudders hard as the tentacles slide over his skin. They’re like silk or polished stones: smooth, cold, impossible to stop touching. They wrap around his arms, his throat, his hips; they spread his legs with an uncanny strength and tease at the sensitive skin in the crease of his thigh.

He looks up at Nureyev, into those eyes from another planet, and he stares back at Juno with something scorching-bright. He doesn’t just look excited or aroused; he looks hungry. He looks like he wants to wrap Juno up entirely and steal him away into some secret place where they’ll never be found, where he can have him until the stars wink out and the universe collapses.

Juno, God help him, wants that too.

He grabs at the tentacle brushing tenderly at his hairline. Nureyev doesn’t resist, just goes where Juno pulls him, and where Juno pulls him is straight to his open mouth.

Nureyev gasps as the tip of the tentacle rests at the edge of Juno’s mouth. His tongue darts out, dabbing at it quick and teasing before he guides it fully between his lips.

“You don’t have to, Juno,” Nureyev pants. Juno rolls his eye and lifts his head, pushing the wriggling tentacle deeper in. He feels it stroke against the side of his cheek; he puts a hand against that cheek, on the outside, because he has to know.

And there it is, under his skin: the pulsing, smooth bulge pressing outward from inside his mouth.

A thrill runs through Juno strong enough to make his whole body shiver. The tentacle glides over his tongue like it was meant for nothing else. A second one, hesitant, pokes at his chin, and Juno stretches his lips wide to welcome it. A third slips through the small space between them; it tickles over the ridges of Juno’s hard palate.

He sucks hard on them, spit dribbling around the edges of his full mouth. Nureyev is chanting Juno’s name from above him, high-pitched pleas and gratitude. Juno uses his tongue to guide one tentacle--the largest, the one curled between his teeth, propping his jaw open and almost begging him to bite down--near the back of his throat. 

When Juno swallows, every single tentacle wrapped around him squeezes.

It punches the air out of Juno’s lungs, through his nose as the path of least resistance, but not without catching on the tentacles pumping softly into his throat. He chokes, a long wheeze, and Nureyev pulls away immediately.

“Dear God, did I hurt you?” Nureyev’s eyes are very wide and his tentacles are shrinking back in horror. “That was entirely unintentional, Juno, I’m so sorry. You were just so… Oh, Juno.”

One of his hands--real, human hands--runs through Juno’s hair.

“I’m fine,” he coughs. His voice is pleasantly rough. “Really. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’m so--”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it,” Juno cuts him off before Nureyev can apologize again. Nureyev’s mouth drops open.

“Ah, I see.” His eyes go a little unfocused. Juno pulls himself closer and throws a leg over Nureyev’s waist until their hips are flush. The man’s skin is burning up compared to the feeling of his tentacles; the counterpoint makes Juno’s cock throb.

Nureyev moans again. He wraps his arms and tentacles both around Juno--hot and cold, soft and slick. They kiss again, tied together until there is hardly room between them to breathe.

“What do you want, Juno?” Nureyev whispers. One of his tentacles, roaming over Juno’s overheated skin, slips the very end of itself between the cheeks of his ass. 

Juno gasps, ragged and deep.

“Yes,” he says. It’s a small word in a small voice, but he means it with everything he has. He looks up into those too-bright eyes--really, truly glowing faintly, how didn’t he see that before?--and swallows. “Please.”

Nureyev looks utterly overwhelmed, suddenly. Juno doesn’t know if he’s ever been with someone like this, and he doesn’t want to ask. He can see it a little too clearly: Nureyev, wrapped up so tight in another name and face there’s no room for this kind of honesty, this kind of bareness.

It’s not a gift Juno deserves. He’ll take it though, and gladly, when it means giving Nureyev this in return.

The tentacle probes further down, just at the rim of him. Juno shivers. The cold is strange, the texture moreso, but that strangeness isn’t unpleasant. It’s been awhile since Juno felt like this: vulnerable, open, at the mercy of something new.

Nureyev’s arms pull away from him, slowly but intentionally. He’s leaning over the side of the bed, reaching for his discarded pants and coat. It takes Juno a second to see what’s wrong with this picture: Nureyev’s body is moving further away, but the tentacles are still holding and caressing Juno. They stretch out from his back even further--impossibly far. Juno can’t wrap his mind around how they’re extending like this, still strong enough to cradle the lower half of his body an inch above the bed.

It makes Juno wonder about the limits of these things, and if Nureyev is still holding back.

Nureyev comes back with a grin and two bottles of lube. They’re different brands and one is half-full; Juno suspects he unearthed them from the forgotten depths of separate pockets. It’s a little breathtaking, this knowledge of Peter Nureyev’s quirks and habits. It’s also ridiculous, watching him lube up writhing tentacles for the purpose of fucking Juno senseless and feeling nothing but warm fondness and intimacy.

The view itself is an eyeful--and Juno should know. Nureyev touches his own tentacles with a surety Juno barely has with parts of his own body. He coats them carefully and they shine bright and wet. Nureyev smooths his slender hands down the limber trunks of them; they curl around his fingers and arms, they curve in the air and twine around each other.

“Tell me if anything’s wrong,” Nureyev says earnestly as he positions Juno. He moves him around gently, raises Juno’s legs in the air and hitches him closer. He could pull him willy-nilly like a ragdoll if he wanted; Juno is practically helpless, limbs all coiled up in strong tentacles. Something primal in him croons with pleasure at the thought.

“I won’t need to,” Juno breathes. The anticipation is driving him crazy, Nureyev’s tentacles tickling around his hips and thighs and ass, close but not quite where he needs it.

“I’m serious, Juno. If you need to stop, tell me.” He’s so sincere, the closest Juno has ever seen him to nervous.

Juno reaches up--Nureyev lets him, doesn’t even think to hold his arm down--and cups his jaw in one hand.

“I trust you.”

Nureyev swallows visibly.

“That’s… That’s good to hear, Juno.” He leans down and kisses Juno on the mouth. His lips are as soft as ever. His hands come around to cradle Juno’s head, pull him close, fingers deep in his curls and breath hot across his chin between breaking and coming together again.

One tentacle--not only smooth, now, but slick with lube--wraps loosely around Juno’s cock.

_“Ah,”_ he cries out, squirming and spreading his legs, heat crawling up his neck and _fuck_ but he’s so far gone already. Nureyev moans back sympathetically. Another tentacle comes back to his ass, probing gently at Juno’s rim before slipping its thin tip inside.

It’s about the size of a finger so far, barely a stretch and well-lubricated thanks to Nureyev. Juno squirms again.

Nureyev pushes his tongue inside Juno’s mouth at the same time he pushes his tentacle further into him. It widens quickly, a satisfying stretch. There’s give to it when Juno clenches; at the pressure, Nureyev moans again and the tentacle around Juno’s cock tightens its hold.

“Juno, _Juno,”_ Nureyev pants into his mouth.

“More, give me more, I can take it.” Juno is all but begging Nureyev to fill him up, and there’s no shame in it. There’s no shame in the way Nureyev complies, either, after his previous hesitancy. 

He pushes deep into Juno, slowly undulates the tentacle in him in a long wave. A rough noise leaps from Juno’s throat at the sensation; he doesn’t think he’s ever had anyone or anything this deep inside him, the opening-up and curious discovery of tender new places claimed by Peter Nureyev alone.

“Tell me,” Nureyev pleads hoarsely, “how does that feel?” His eyes are wide open, locked onto Juno’s as he rocks him on his thick tentacle, pushing and pulling and coiling inside him.

Juno’s mouth is hanging slack and he can’t find the focus to string a sentence together. The tentacle finds his prostate, slides over it and presses. He grunts and seizes up like he’s been electrocuted--that’s a little what it’s like, if he’s being honest; like his body wasn’t built for it, this kind of power moving through him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” is all he can manage. Nureyev’s shoulders curve forward as he brings them closer together, closing the too-wide space between Juno and the hot core of his body.

When another slick tentacle pushes in, Juno throws his head back and makes a noise that can probably be heard on Deimos. He feels his own Adam’s apple stretching the skin of his throat as he lets himself hang, limp, from the tangle of black tendrils holding him steady above the bed. Nureyev stretches him out and fills him to bursting with dextrous movements and deep, winding thrusts, ones that make Juno’s toes curl in the air where his legs are hoisted above him.

Nureyev alternates the thrusts of his tentacles; in, out, don’t forget to _breathe, Juno,_ and oh, that might be his actual voice, out loud. Juno is barely in his own head enough to tell the difference. 

Juno takes a breath that rattles his whole ribcage. The tentacles snaking across his chest stroke him soothingly; one helping to prop up his head sneaks around to tuck a stray curl behind his ear. That, more than nearly anything, feels so achingly intimate Juno damn near falls apart on the spot.

He finds the strength to lift his head up because he has to see Nureyev, has to know the look on this man’s face as he sends Juno careening into the vacuum of space.

What he sees is another thing that’s almost too much to handle; Nureyev’s lips are parted, eyes wide but glassy. His face is flushed--even in the dim, changeable light of the room, Juno can see it--and his slender chest is heaving. He’s got a hand around his own cock, touching himself as he watches Juno writhe on his tentacles. Juno’s breath catches at the sight.

“Nooo,” Juno whines without really meaning to. “I’m--hng--good, don’t you dare stop,” he adds quickly, because Nureyev might be deep in it too but he practically turns to stone the second Juno voices unsurety.

“Juno?” Nureyev blinks at him and bites his lip. Juno’s eye flicks down to Nureyev’s cock, which still has Nureyev’s hand around it. “What's wrong? What do you want?”

“I want you inside me, I want to come on your dick, I want all of it, goddamit,” Juno swears. He looks Nureyev in the eye again and the whole spiraling galaxy grinds to a halt. “Everything,” he says, a hoarse whisper in the silence between them.

“Oh,” Nureyev breathes. His hand squeezes around the base of his cock just then, like Juno begging for him was nearly enough to set him off entirely. “Well,” he clears his throat. “Let’s see what we can do about that, hm?”

The bigger tentacle still rippling and pulsing in Juno starts to pull back. His hands clench around the tentacles near his arms at the feeling: slow and slick but with that rougher texture he felt beneath his palms before. The other one coils tight inside him, keeping Juno full and open.

He’s watching every move Nureyev makes with his eye--just the one, now, but still a detective’s, a sharpshooter’s eye.

Nureyev pulls back a bit, grabs the lube, and wraps a long, thin tentacle around his own cock. It spirals up the shaft and ends with its tapered tip curved around the head.

“Oh, God,” Juno moans, catching on to where this is going. He spreads his legs wider, and Nureyev’s strong tentacles keep them there, even as the muscles of his thighs are starting to ache. _“Please.”_

The tentacle holding him open starts to unwind. Juno shifts needily, the sensation sending heavy sparks of near-satisfaction into his gut. He whines again when it pulls out of him entirely, leaving him empty.

But Nureyev is here, taking care of him, never letting him alone for long. He pushes inside.

He goes slow, building from the thin ridge at the head to the thicker corkscrew layer around him near the base. Juno’s been stretched loose and wide over the course of this whole experience, but every time the edge of the tentacle pushes past his rim, he lets out a guttural little _“guh.”_

“Ohh, oh Juno.” Nureyev’s voice is desperate, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. It doesn’t click until he gets fully in and starts to move, crying out louder and clutching at Juno’s shoulders like he’s afraid he’ll disappear beneath him: he sounds reverent.

The tentacle around Juno’s cock is mirroring the movements of the one inside him. They both coil tight and then loosen like a spring, up and down. They’re still colder than bare skin, but they set Juno’s nerves on fire, tightening in his abs and thighs and neck.

He’s getting close, and based on the wrecked sounds pouring out of Nureyev he’s not alone.

This man, this strange and impossible man, has Juno strung up and spread out and pounds into him like the world is falling down around them. A tentacle swipes over the head of Juno’s cock and dips the tip of itself, shallowly, into the slit there leaking precum. Juno’s whole body shudders and shakes.

“Harder, please, I’m so close,” Juno begs. There are tears pricking the corners of his eyes; he can’t remember the last time he was this aware of his body. Nureyev’s hand strokes his neck and cups his jaw with a gentleness incongruous to the way he’s making Juno feel, full up and trembling like he’s about to burst at the seams.

Nureyev’s tentacles tighten and pulse around Juno as he fucks him harder, pressing him into the wicker-woven pad of themselves holding him up and cradling him close. Juno is surrounded and safe and on the edge of a pleasure so incandescent he’s almost afraid of what it will do to him.

The tentacle around Juno’s cock twists, Nureyev’s hips slam into his, and Juno comes. He lets it wash through him, he rides it like sandgliding down a rocky slope and screams Nureyev’s name.

_“Peter,”_ he shouts--the first time he’s said it, but it feels right in Juno’s mouth.

Nureyev must like hearing it too, or maybe it’s the way Juno tenses and squeezes around him, or all of it together, because he surges forward and buries his sharp teeth into Juno’s shoulder with a sound that Juno can only call a howl. 

Nureyev comes inside him; Juno feels the tentacle there, suddenly slicker, loosen its grip on Nureyev’s cock.

Juno spends long, long seconds trying to catch his breath. He doesn’t want to move or think, just stay here, wrapped in Nureyev’s tentacles and the way everything hard and tense inside him seems to have melted.

Nureyev’s voice, though, pulls him back to the surface. Listening to him is like tuning into a staticky radio, but Juno gets there eventually.

“--say something, please? Juno, I need to know that you’re alright, that this was…. Well. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Juno murmurs sleepily. His eye is closed. He isn’t sure when that happened, but it takes an effort to open it again. He blinks up at Nureyev, face soft in the half-light but as bright as a moon.

“Was that…” Nureyev bites his lip. Heat flares in Juno’s gut as he remembers those teeth, the fresh sting in his shoulder that he hopes will leave a mark. “Was that good? For you?”

“Nureyev,” Juno sighs. He grunts a bit as he sits up. Nureyev's tentacles are slithering out from under him and unwinding from his limbs. “If that was half as good for you as it was for me, I don’t get how you’re still verbal.”

Nureyev’s eyes light up--not literally, not quite--and he smiles.

Juno smiles back. He kisses Nureyev, pulls him back down onto the bed, and means to stay there.


End file.
